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“We have to win this—no matter what.”
Even with his back turned, Ren can perfectly imagine Akechi’s expression—the firm set of his jaw, his gaze aimed straight forward. Determined. Decisive. It’s one of the things that first drew Ren to him: that hard resolve, the way it mirrored his own. The thesis to his antithesis.
No matter what, he says. The implication is clear: Even at the cost of my life.
Ren knows he can’t falter. He’d just be letting Akechi and everyone else down if he hesitated now. He’d be throwing away everything they’ve worked for, everything they believe in.
But he can’t ignore the ache that settled in his gut the moment Maruki revealed Akechi’s situation. He’s aware that it’s unlikely Maruki knows any more about Akechi’s fate than the rest of them. He’s not entirely omniscient, after all—he just looks into other people’s cognitions. If no one knows what happened to Akechi, then how could he?
But still. Ren remembers the sound of the gunshots, the silence that followed. He remembers how there’d been no sign of Akechi afterward. And he can’t help but feel like he’s saying goodbye.
As Akechi starts to make his way to the door of Leblanc, his point made and their decision finalized, Ren blurts, “Wait.”
Akechi stops in his tracks and glances over his shoulder. “What?” he snaps, almost impatient, but there’s a slight edge to his voice. “Don’t tell me you’re finally having second thoughts.”
Ren shakes his head and holds up a hand in an appeasing gesture. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…”
He swallows hard as he tries to gather his thoughts, his feelings, his desires. His heart is beating faster now.
Akechi turns around fully, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. Behind him, the last remnants of the setting sun paint his face in shadows. “Say what you mean,” he says. “You’ve certainly never had trouble before.”
Ren takes a deep breath. There’s no turning back now. Besides, if this is truly how things are going to end, he wants to end it right this time.
Forcing himself to meet Akechi’s incisive gaze, he says, “Will you…stay? Tonight? With me?”
Akechi blinks, a soft breath hitching in his throat. In a heartbeat, his expression morphs from irritated to stunned, his mouth slightly open, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what. Like Ren could’ve said anything in the world and it wouldn’t have been as unexpected as what actually came out of his mouth.
Akechi glances away, his hair falling into his face as he focuses very intently on the empty bar next to them. It’s not surprising; Ren has imagined this conversation—or ones like it—more times than he’d like to admit, and he could never quite picture an Akechi who knew how to react to it. Attraction is one thing. Attraction is something Ren has sensed between them for a long time, though he wasn’t always sure if it was something Akechi truly reciprocated. Perhaps Akechi didn’t really know either; how could he, when for so long the only emotions he knew how to identify and cultivate were hatred and bitterness?
But this is more than just witty banter or a stolen kiss in the dark. This is Ren baring his heart, essentially, and they both know it.
Akechi shakes his head in disbelief, but Ren can see his lips twitching just barely upward, incredulous. “Seriously, Ren,” he murmurs. The edge in his voice is gone. “You are…unbelievable.”
Ren shrugs, heat creeping into his cheeks. “I just…if you’re really going to…”
His voice wavers. The thought of speaking it aloud puts a knot in his throat. He changes the sentence.
“If this is really…the end,” he says instead, taking a step closer, “then I don’t want to have any regrets.”
At this, Akechi finally meets his gaze. “And what,” he says slowly, “would you regret, exactly?”
Blood rushing in his ears, Ren takes another step forward. They’re only about a foot apart now, close enough that Ren could stand there just to study the details of Akechi’s face, the curve of his lips, the angle of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw—but he’s waiting for an answer. And Ren’s held back long enough.
“Not doing this,” he says, and presses his lips to Akechi’s.
Akechi lets out the smallest gasp, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand reaches up and grasps the side of Ren’s face, so hard he thinks it might bruise, and kisses back with unexpected force, a force Ren gladly reciprocates. As the kiss deepens, he slips one arm around Akechi’s waist and pulls him closer, until their bodies press together. His other hand reaches for the scarf around Akechi’s neck, tugging it loose.
His head swims, filled with nothing but the feeling of Akechi’s soft lips, the warmth of his mouth, their shared breaths growing shaky and desperate. He never wants to come up for air. He wants to drown in this kiss.
Akechi breaks it off first, though he still doesn’t let go of Ren’s face. “Ren,” he starts, his voice rough. His gaze flits away. “I…”
Ren doesn’t say anything, just waits for Akechi to collect his thoughts. Akechi’s hand slides from Ren’s cheek to his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. Finally, still pointedly not looking at Ren, he says, “This is truly what you want? You want me to stay the night?”
Now that he’s said it out loud, Ren can feel his ears burning. “I mean, only if you want to, obviously,” he says. “I’m not gonna force you to—”
Akechi shuts him up by kissing him again, reaching back up to twist his fingers in Ren’s hair. Ren gasps into his mouth and pulls him in again, both arms now wrapped tightly around Akechi’s torso, as if their bodies could completely meld together if only they could get close enough.
Akechi pulls away slowly, still hanging onto Ren’s lower lip with his teeth before finally letting go. Even then, he keeps his face only inches from Ren, his face flushed. “Is that,” he says, “a clear enough answer for you?”
Ren can only nod, suddenly speechless and starstruck. His heart races, and his body feels warmer than it did a few minutes ago. He’s been dreaming of this for months. Now, for the first and perhaps the last time, it’s more than just a dream.
Akechi glances away again, pulling his hands free from Ren’s hair, though he makes no move to extricate himself from Ren’s embrace. “I have wanted this—you—for longer than I’d care to admit,” he says quietly. “I just didn’t realize it until it was too late.”
The only other time Ren has seen Akechi this vulnerable was in the engine room of Shido’s Palace. His expression is bittersweet, almost rueful.
As if on cue, he seems to become aware of his own vulnerability, and he takes a step backward, forcing Ren to let go of him. “Don’t think this changes anything,” he says defensively. Ren can physically see him starting to close up again. “We’re still challenging Maruki tomorrow. Got it?”
“Of course,” Ren says, and he means it. To accept Maruki’s reality would mean going directly against Akechi’s wishes, not to mention everyone else’s.
Akechi’s shoulders drop, and he lets out a sigh. The walls start to fall back down.
“Alright,” he says softly, more to himself than to Ren. “Alright.” Then he steps forward again. “I’ll stay.”
Ren can’t help but break into a smile. “Thank you,” he says, rubbing his eyes. He glances over at the kitchen area. “So did you eat dinner? I could make us some curry.”
At that, Akechi chuckles in what seems like disbelief. “Yes,” he says. “I think I’d like that.”
Ren nods and rushes into the kitchen, his back turned so Akechi can’t see him cry.
Morgana comes downstairs when he smells the curry. Ren explains their decision—both about Maruki and about Akechi staying overnight—and Morgana twitches his ears and declares that he has no interest in being a third wheel and that he’ll go stay with the Sakuras for the night. Ren doesn’t miss the look of relief on Akechi’s face.
In the quiet of the evening, with Leblanc entirely to themselves, Ren could almost forget their abnormal circumstances. He could almost believe, as he hums and cooks while Akechi watches him intently, that it’ll always be like this. That this bliss is real and permanent, that Akechi isn’t a walking dead man.
He knows it isn’t true, but for just one more night, maybe he can pretend.
When they finally head upstairs, Akechi unwraps his scarf fully, tossing it haphazardly on the couch before starting to wordlessly unbutton his coat. Ren can’t help but stand and watch, his gaze fixed on Akechi’s gloved fingers deftly undoing each button and sliding the belt free from its buckle.
Underneath is one of Akechi’s vests, which, to Ren’s surprise, he immediately proceeds to lift over his head and discard with his scarf, coat, and now gloves, too.
“What?” he says when he notices Ren staring. He’s now down to just his typical white button-down. “I was getting hot.” He cocks his head toward the heater in the corner of Ren’s room.
Ren sits down on the bed. He can’t argue with that—he took his own jacket off earlier to make the curry. Still, he raises a playful eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Akechi huffs and strides toward him. “Yes, it is.”
Ren glances up at him and smirks. “Well, you’re pretty hot already, so I get it.”
Akechi’s cheeks burn red. “Am I now?”
Ren’s smile shifts into something less teasing and more genuine. “Yeah. You are. You don’t think so?”
At that, Akechi breaks eye contact. Ren can see the muscle in his jaw tense just slightly. “I’ve never thought about it,” he says finally.
“Oh, come on,” Ren says. “All that time as the Detective Prince, all those fangirls you had, and you never once thought of yourself as attractive?”
Akechi sighs and sits down next to him, close enough that their knees bump together. “Not particularly,” he says. “I knew people thought of me as attractive, but that doesn’t mean I’ve ever seen myself that way.” His voice is calm, almost clinical, intentionally distant. “I was a bit preoccupied, you know. It wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities. After all, a weapon doesn’t think of itself as ugly or beautiful, does it?”
Ren looks down into his lap. It makes sense, he supposes, but there’s something sad about it, about never seeing yourself as something beautiful or desirable—about looking in the mirror and seeing only a tool.
“You’re not just a weapon,” he says quietly.
Akechi sighs. “Yes. I know that now. I only wish I’d realized it earlier.”
For a moment, neither of them say anything. Tentatively, Ren inches his hand over and rests it on top of Akechi’s.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, his heart thudding in his chest, “I think you’re beautiful.”
Akechi flinches and glances away, his free hand curling into a fist. “That’s…not a word I’d use to describe myself.”
“Well, I did,” Ren says. His voice softens. “Hey. Look at me.”
Akechi frowns and meets Ren’s gaze. The Detective Prince was dazzling—so much so that you could never look at him too closely. But here, only inches apart in the quiet privacy of the attic, Ren can see the little imperfections on his skin that makeup normally would’ve covered—faint moles, traces of stubborn acne, exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. The real Akechi.
Ren leans forward and kisses him again.
This time, there isn’t any of the rush. This kiss is soft and slow, a gentleness to the way his free hand reaches up and rests against Akechi’s cheek. For a blissful moment, there’s nothing but the warmth of those lips, the way they move in tandem with his. Ren could kiss him like this all night. He could do this for the rest of his life.
When they pull away, there’s a faint half-smile on Akechi’s face. “You,” he says, “are utterly unfathomable.”
Ren shrugs. He can feel his heart speeding up again. “Let me show you, then.”
Akechi raises a brow. “Show me what?”
Ren brushes a bit of Akechi’s hair out of his eyes. “How I feel,” he murmurs. “Maybe it’ll help you understand.”
Akechi chuckles, almost incredulous. “Ren Amamiya, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
Ren feels his face heat up. There goes all the charm. “Maybe. I mean—depends what you think I’m suggesting.”
Akechi doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with those dark eyes, like he’s waiting for something. Ren takes a deep, shaky breath.
“I just…want to make you feel loved,” he confesses. “Because you are.”
In a flash, all of Akechi’s masks fall from his face, leaving him staring, speechless, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted. He looks so young, like a child experiencing everything for the first time.
“Loved, huh,” he repeats, like the word is unfamiliar to him—Ren supposes it is. His expression darkens, just a little. “You shouldn’t.”
Ren reaches out and tucks a few strands of Akechi’s hair behind his ear. “Well, I do,” he says. “And I can’t help how I feel.”
Akechi makes a sound that isn’t quite a laugh or a sob, a sharp exhale of raw disbelief. “Your sincerity continues to astound me.”
Ren flashes a tiny smile. “In a good way, I hope.”
At that, Akechi leans in and kisses him, short and sweet.
“Yes,” he breathes. “In a good way.”
His next kiss is rougher, the way he wraps an arm around Ren’s neck and pulls him in, the way his teeth sink into the flesh of Ren’s bottom lip, the way his tongue prods until Ren’s mouth opens just enough to slip inside. Their breathing grows hot and fast and desperate, and when Ren presses his hand against Akechi’s chest, Akechi leans back against the bed and pulls Ren down with him.
Ren can no longer count the number of nights on one hand that he’d imagined something like this: their bodies pressed together in the shadows of the attic, hands and mouths tracing each other’s skin. And yet, even the most vivid imagination doesn’t compare to the lightness in his chest as he feels Akechi’s fingers in his hair, as he presses his lips to Akechi’s collarbone. His body hums with heat. He wants to breathe love into Akechi’s veins.
In the quiet of the night, they unravel each other with simple touches. When Akechi moans Ren’s name, low and husky, Ren thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. And when Ren finally whispers I love you into Akechi’s ear, Akechi doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push him away, doesn’t put his wall back up. He simply cups Ren’s face in his hands and kisses him again.
It feels like a beginning. It feels like an ending.
It’s late when the tears finally come.
Ren let Akechi borrow some of his sleep clothes, and now they lie wrapped up in blankets and in each other, their legs tangled together, Akechi’s arm slung around Ren’s torso, Ren’s face buried just beneath Akechi’s chin. Even wearing Ren’s shirt, he still smells like Akechi, and Ren breathes him in like air because it might be his last chance to do so.
He knows he should be sleeping. But falling asleep means less time spent savoring the feeling of Akechi’s arms around him. And they don’t have much time left.
It’s all so cruel—not just to Ren, but to Akechi. Dying alone in the Metaverse was bad enough after the life he’s lived, but then Maruki had to give them hope. He had to give Akechi a chance to start over, just to remind them both of what they’ll be unable to have. Ren knows that wasn’t Maruki’s intention—what he wanted was for them to be able to start over. But Akechi never would’ve accepted that. And Ren wouldn’t hold Akechi hostage in a fantasy world he never wanted to be a part of. Even if he thought that Maruki’s reality might be what’s best—and he doesn’t—he’d never be able to forgive himself.
Still. That doesn’t mean he can’t mourn what could have been, if things had been different. If he’d met Akechi earlier, or reached out to him earlier. If the world had been kinder. If Ren had been smarter or stronger.
He tries to be quiet. He really does. Earlier, he only let a few tears slip down his cheeks before he forced his eyes to dry. The last thing Akechi needs is to see the unflappable leader of the Phantom Thieves crying like a baby on the night before their final heist. He covers his mouth with one hand to stifle his shaky breaths, even as the hot tears drip onto Akechi’s chest.
But Akechi must be a light sleeper—that, or he wasn’t really sleeping at all—because it’s not long before Ren hears his voice, feels it rumbling in his chest: “Ren.”
Ren makes a hoarse, startled sound in his throat and bolts upright. “I—I’m okay,” he says, furiously wiping at his eyes.
Akechi pulls himself up into a sitting position. “Well, that’s quite possibly the most obvious lie I’ve ever heard,” he says, not unkindly. “Which is saying something.”
Ren hunches his shoulders, rubbing so hard at his eyes that he starts seeing colors that aren’t there, but the tears won’t stop. He’s spent so long smiling through the pain, pushing forward through every setback, every horrible thing he’s seen and felt. All that effort to endure gracefully, and yet all it takes to break him is being unable to save someone he loves.
“Hey. Look at me,” Akechi says, repeating Ren’s words from earlier.
That makes the corners of Ren’s mouth turn up just a little. Tentatively, he brings his hands down from his face and forces himself to meet Akechi’s gaze. He’s sure he looks like a mess, his eyes swollen and his cheeks red.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a sniffle. “We’re still gonna challenge Maruki tomorrow, okay? So you don’t have to worry about—about me going back on our deal, or—”
“I wasn’t worried about that,” Akechi says. Then, slowly, like it’s not something he’s used to doing—because it surely isn’t—he reaches out and takes Ren’s hand in his own.
“I’m sure you know that comfort isn’t my strong suit,” he says. “Real comfort, I mean. But…I’m here.” He doesn’t say the unspoken part: For tonight. For tonight, at least, I’m here.
Ren nods. Then he leans forward, wraps his arms around Akechi’s torso, and buries his face in the crook of Akechi’s neck.
“I’ll miss you,” he mumbles, his voice thick and muffled. It feels woefully inadequate to describe how he feels.
He waits for Akechi to say that he shouldn’t, to call him a fool for caring so deeply about a murderer.
But instead, he just whispers, “I know.”
It feels like ages that Ren sobs against him as the weight of everything—the trauma, the regret, the guilt—finally crashes down. And the whole time, Akechi just holds him, his chin resting on Ren’s shoulder.
When the tears start to slow down and Ren feels like he can breathe normally, Akechi murmurs, “We should try to get some rest.”
Ren nods and lifts his head up—and is startled by the sight in front of him. Because now Akechi is crying too, a few silent tears that roll down his cheeks without fanfare.
“Goro—” Ren starts, reaching a hand out, then abruptly stops. He’s never called Akechi that before. He’s never heard anyone call Akechi by just his first name.
Akechi doesn’t respond. He just closes his eyes and lets Ren’s fingers brush the tears away.
They stay like that for a long moment, Ren holding Akechi’s face in his hands, completely silent save for the sound of their breathing. “Alright,” Ren says softly.
Akechi nods, and Ren lets go.
With that, Akechi lies back down on his side, and Ren joins him so they’re facing each other. Akechi’s eyes gleam with determination.
“Listen to me,” he whispers. “No more regrets. Okay?”
Easier said than done, Ren doesn’t say. Akechi of all people should know that.
Instead, he sighs and rests his head against Akechi’s chest. “Okay,” he says. “No more regrets.”
Somehow, saying the words out loud makes them feel truer. He’s not sure he’ll be able to completely honor the promise—deep down, there will probably always be a part of him that wishes things had been different—but, if nothing else, at least they can move forward knowing that they tried their best. That they chose their own paths.
Really, that’s all they can do.